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SONNETS 0/SPINSTERHOOD 



SONNETS of 
SPINSTERHOOD 

THE SPINSTER'S BOOK fl/DREAMS 

DELICATE TRACERIES of 

DIM DESIRES 

^SNOWLONGLEY 



PAUL ELDER & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS • SAN FRANCISCO 



COPYRIGHT, 19IJ 

BY PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 

SAN FRANCISCO 







SEP 20 1915 

©CI.A410519 



These Sonnets need, perhaps, a word of explana- 
tion. In a recent reading of Elizabeth Barrett 
Browning* s "Sonnets from the Portuguese," the 
conviclion was borne in upon me that the sentiment 
of love is worthy of expression, whether or not it 
outwardly finds an objecl; ft for the romantic passion" 
as a dream, an ideal or a memory is a source of in- 
spiration in every human life. I have endeavored 
to make the sequence of sonnets show the ideal prog- 
ress from the personal to the racial, from the love 
which seeks individual expression to the 
love for humanity. 



PROEM 

Light-pencilled in the spinster's book of dreams 
Are delicate traceries of dim desires, 
That still, at times, give forth their fitful gleams, 
Though grayed to ashes with youth's sinking fires 
And sometimes, in life's long, slow afternoon, 
She turns the pages, yellowed with the years, 
And finds a flower, its petals caught too soon 
And here impressed, stained with gentle tears, 
Before the ripe fruit 'neath its heart might bear 
The changing mystery of th' enfolded seed, 
She smooths its petals with a tender care, 
And passes on where errant memories lead. 
And with the turning page the quiet room 
Holds the faint perfume of life's springtide bloom. 



SONNETS 3^PINSTERHQ?D 



Spirit of Love, to thee alone I give 
These verses which my fancy has set free, 
A votive offering on thy shrine to live, 
Bound in a golden band of poesy; 
And if the flowers fade, the gold prove 

dross, 
Fling them aside-thou hast no need 

of praise; 
Nor will another grieve, mine own the 

loss, 
Since I walk lonely all my earthly days. 
But as the vestal maids of old must tend 
The altar whence domestic joys took 

flame, 
So may my incense with thy candles 

blend, 
So may I tend thy fires in love's own 

name, 
Content if by my service love may shine 
With brighter glow on other hearths 

than mine. 



30NNETS V 



II. 

I may not know thee in life's span, dear 

love, 
The gray years come to me, and take 

their toll 
Of youth and hope, and hastening onward 

move, 
But bring not thee, O comrade of my soul. 
At times I've fancied that I felt thee 

near, 
Or saw thy spirit look from eyes agleam; 
But now I know, with later vision clear, 
'Twas but the youthful stirring of a 

dream. 
Yet if our love be mixt, not all of clay, 
But has the star-dust mingled with the 

mold, 
Then shall I find thee on some heavenly 

day- 
An it be true, as prophets have foretold- 
In that far future land beyond the sun, 
Where you and I and Life and Love are 

one. 



SPINSTfcRM) 



III. 

If I have missed thee, let me not lose 

love, 
That greater than ourselves which makes 

us one, 
Toward which the currents of our beings 

move, 
As the spring flowers uplift them to the 

sun. 
May every stir of life its music breathe 
Upon the listening harp-strings of my 

heart, 
The rustling oak, the violet blue beneath, 
Labor of men in field or busy mart, 
Laughter of children, till my heart's own 

note 
Lose its faint rhythm in life's fuller tone, 
And that one string, by primal impulse 

smote, 
Vibrate to harmonies beyond its own; 
Until in universal love comes peace, 
Wherein my own heart's yearning finds 

surcease. 



vSONNLTS y 



IV. 

Not every cloistered nun wears gar- 
ments dark, 

Nor wreathes her pale brow with a band 
of white, 

Full many a tress-crowned forehead bears 
the mark 

Of calm renunciation of love's light. 

No tapers burn, no low chant casts its 
spell, 

She does world-service in life's busy mart; 

And yet I seem to hear the vesper bell 

Faint echo in the cloisters of her heart. 

And sometimes, when the day of toil is 
spent, 

She seeks her shrine in sacrificial mood, 

And dedicates afresh, with tired head 
bent, 

The votive offering of her womanhood. 

Perchance *t is duty, mayhap memory, 

This altar where she vows her chastity. 



SPIMSTERtra 



v. 

'Twas not for me, the crown of mother- 
hood, 
That blessed boon, that sainted aureole, 
Which every woman, in her heart, deems 

good, 
The highest guerdon of the travailingsoul. 
And in my heart I have cried out,"0, Lord, 
Why to that burdened flesh another 

weight 
Of weak mortality, when my shoulders 

broad, 
Unbent, could raise humanity's frail 

freight?" 
But now I know it is not all to bear 
The race, that every mother heart must 

bend 
To lift the wounded, raise the weight 

of care, 
Till all mankind enlist as childhood's 

friend. 
Not mine the banner, Lord, but give 

me leave 
To wear Thy mercy-cross upon my sleeve. 



.SONNETS? 



VI. 

They cannot know, these other ones who 

stand 
In the fair shelter of a stronger arm, 
The joy it is to steer with mine own hand 
My tiny craft through sun or stress of 

storm, 
To front the world and hear its chal- 
lenge ring, 
To dare still to be human, being maid, 
My richest offering to this day to bring, 
And face the mist-veiled morrow unafraid. 
As chaste Brunhilde, fire-girt, shrank 

to yield 
Her warrior glory for love's greater 

prize. 
So may I keep my dream, till Love, 

revealed, 
Stands in his might before my waking 

eyes. 
He must be hero-born who strives to 

move 
My pulsing heart-beats to the call of love. 



SPINSTfcRM) 



VII. 

There comes to me at times a discontent, 
When all that I have counted gold seems 

dross, 
Wherein the gain of days in labor spent 
Is far outweighed by futile sense of loss; 
And little joys, that filled the crannied 

space 
In duty's shelt'ring wall 'gainst grim 

despair, 
No longer hold for me th' accustomed 

place, 
And faint, far winds of passion echo there. 
'Tis then I turn me to the thought of 

thee, 
And say, "It is my woman-loneliness, 
Had I found love, this yearning would 

not be, 
Or, being, it would die in thy caress." 
And yet, if life must pay the price of 

pain, 
Greater the travail for love's greater gain. 



vSONNLTS? 



w 



VIII. 

I wonder if these little loves atone,- 
These little loves of mutual service 

born, — 
For that great rapture that is not mine 

own, 
That greatest love of which I live forlorn. 
For I am rich in love; the beacon bright 
Of friendship calls to me across the dark, 
And every passing craft its kindly light 
Sends to me from afar in glimmering 

spark. 
If I but turn me toward the distant 

shore, 
My childhood anchorage shines out afar, 
And high above the cloud-rack evermore 
Faith can discern the flashing of a star. 
These lesser lights gleam bright upon 

my way, 
But still my heart cries: "This is not the 

day." 



IX. 

Some women walk the way of life, unwed, 
Nor ever lose the yearning for love's 

prize; 
When early charm and time of hope are 

sped, 
Still gleams love's sweet expectance in 

their eyes. 
And others strive to cozen time's decree, 
Veiling with artitice the face of truth, 
And evermore, with outworn gayety, 
Flaunting the tattered banners of their 

youth. 
But some few wear the crown that life 

bestows,- 
A laurel leaf for every passing year, 
Hid in their breasts a pale, remembered 

rose, 
And in its heart the dew-drop of a tear. 
On their calm brows I see this message 

run, 
"Lo! I have loved and suffered-it is 

done." 



SONNETS? 



X. 

Beloved, when we trod love's path that day, 
Our day of love so soon to fade in night, 
And plucked the flowers upspringing by 

the way, 
And dreamed our dream in innocent 

delight, 
We did not know how soon our paths 

must part- 
You to the highway where the world 

goes by, 
While 1,0 God, my achingwoman's heart! 
Back that same path we trod so joyously 
Must drag my lab'ring way without a 

moan, 
Creeping, yea crawling when my step grew 

slow, 
To that far country that my youth had 

known, 
And now my bruised womanhood must 

know. 
Yet must thy memory fade as fades the 

pain, 
Gladly I'd bear the cross of love again. 



SPINSTERM) 



XI. 

There is one door o* dreams I dare not 

ope, 
I sealed it with my tears in years agone, 
There buried lie a rapture and a hope; 
I turn me not, for life's command is, 

"On." 
I may not have the common right to 

mourn, 
Nor say to those who love, "I under- 
stand," 
Nor yet to her whose sorrow is new-born, 
"Come with me, dear, into the lonely 

land." 
But sometimes, under shadow of the 

night, 
Comes memory with silent sandals shod, 
And leads me back through ways of dim 

delight, 
To tread anew the paths my youth has 

trod. 
Spirit of love, how sweet thy self must be, 
Since such a balm lies in love's memory. 



tab 

XII. 

The life I live is not the life I dreamed 
In those vague fancies maidens fashion fair, 
Wherein romance in 'broidered pattern 

seemed 
To hide from view the darker web of care. 
No fairy prince has claimed me for his 

own, 
No storied castle is my proud abode, 
No golden coach my chariot; alone, 
I trudge my way along time's dusty road; 
Yet, year by year, I find life grown more 

sweet; 
As young hopes fade, youth's yearnings 

lose their pain, 
Till, as my round of duties grows 

complete, 
I should not know which path were loss 

or gain. 
So late I find Love, stripped of all 

disguise, 
As Life, my prince o' dreams, unseals 

my eyes. 



spinster™ 



XIII. 

Dear love, I have no need of thee to-day. 
The little vagrant breezes from afar 
Blow round my brow and whisper in 

their play 
Of that fair land where love and 

summer are. 
So to my heart come echoes, faintly 

sweet, 
Of all the loves that other lives express, 
And in their gladness grows my joy 

complete, 
Till I have found in these my happiness. 
I love with every lover, breathe the 

prayer 
Of every mother by her cradled child; 
The maid's vague dreams, youth's ardent 

pulse I share, 
And the sweet trust of childhood 

undefiled. 
So does the current of my fancies move, 
Till, lo! my loneliness is lapped in love. 



30NNETS? 



XIV. 

When that my day lies heavy, being spent 
In tasks wherein I failed, or seemed to 

fail, 
And all the high hopes of the morn's 

intent 
Make my small deeds appear of slight 

avail, 
My tired heart turns to love, and dreams 

the dream 
That there is found surcease of earthly 

woe, 
Till reason, spent with strife, is fain to 

deem 
The heart speaks fair, and lets her say it so. 
All other hopes of youth, like vapors, 

fade 
Before the burning glare of noon-day 

heat, 
This fair mirage I follow still, afraid 
To come too near it lest I lose its sweet 
My one illusion still has power to 

bless,- 
That love fulfilled is perfect happiness. 



SPINSTfcRM) 



xv. 

I dreamed last night I stood with God 

on high, 
And saw the centuries glide, like falling 

rain, 
Into the still pool of eternity, 
Whose calm deeps scarcely rippled with 

their gain; 
And everywhere, in flower and bud and 

tree, 
In savage beast or stirring of the clod, 
In the on-marching of humanity, 
I seemed to see life reaching up to God; 
And little joys that I had counted great, 
And loss of love with all its wealth of 

gain, 
Seemed less than that my soul drag not 

its weight, 
Nor stay the age-long welding of life's 

chain. 
O, God, when self would seek its own 

delight, 
Renew to me Thy vision of the night. 



sonmvsy 

XVI. 

I sought for Happiness upon a height 
Of rapture in some dream-enchanted isle; 
Her rainbow wings just glanced upon 

my sight, 
I knew that she was leaving me the while. 
I dwelt apart; I builded me a shrine 
To meditate upon her presence bright; 
But though I long invoked her peace 

divine, 
No voice save mine rang out upon the 

night. 
With heavy heart I sought the haunts 

of men, 
In toil for human needs my days are 

spent, 
And when I thought of happiness again, 
She stood beside me, crowned with calm 

content. 
How true to-day those words of ancient 

writ: 
He only finds his life who loses it. 



SPINSTERHOPD 



XVII. 

I have attained unto the shore of peace; 
The eddies of unrest below me lie, 
And for the blessed calm of pain's 

surcease, 
I give the wave's wild crest of ecstacy. 
If love's sweet airs blow not about my 

heart, 
Serenely sheltered in its sunny cove, 
I shall not know the raving storm-wind's 

part, 
Nor all the fiercer bufFetings of love. 
And here the tides of life will ebb and 

flow, 
And I may sit and watch them, unafraid, 
By the faint glimmer of youth's afterglow, 
Tasting the placid pleasures of a maid. 
Yet still, at times, the breaker's pulse, 

like fate, 
Sounds faint foreboding-it is not too 

late. 



vSONNETS? 



XVIII. 

Forgive this lyric love, O Greater Soul, 
These broken words in bands of verses 

strung; 
Had life, perchance, giv'n me the common 

dole, 
The heart had found itself another 

tongue. 
Had little children played about my knee, 
And bound my soul in chains of service 

strong, 
Or had I heard thy love-tone's melody, 
There would have been no grief to give 

in song. 
But, while one woman-heart must ache 

alone, 
One serve, unsought, selt's need or 

common good, 
I pray the God of love my minor tone 
May voice the yearnings of this sister- 
hood. 
For them I bind this rosemary and rue, 
Content if low one whisper, "It is true/' 



SPINSTERH°PD 



XIX. 

Spirit of Love, if I have silent grown, 
And call thy name less often than of yore, 
Think not my heart has ceased to seek 

its own, 
Nor can unsay thy sweet remembered 

lore. 
That glad expectance which with youth 

should die 
To rise immortal in love's verity, 
Still stirs at times, though youth has 

passed me by, 
And seeks fulfillment in reality. 
Scorn not, O love, this offering at thy 

shrine, 
Thy worshipper dwells in life's twilight 

gray, 
And yet the radiance of thy light divine 

Keeps in her heart the brightness still of 

day. 
Thank God I have not lost the human 

touch; 
They only live who love or suffer much. 



HERE ENDS THE SONNETS OF SPINSTERHOOD. DELI- 
CATE TRACERIES OF DIM DESIRES WRITTEN BY SNOW 
LONGLEY, WITH DECORATIONS BY AUDLEY B. WELLS. 
DONE INTO A BOOK BY PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
AT THEIR TOMOYE PRESS IN SAN FRANCISCO UNDER 
THE GUIDANCE OF H. A. FUNKE, IN THE MONTH OF 
AUGUST, NINETEEN HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN 



HBRARY OF CONGRESS 

iniiifSMi. 

015 873 602 Q 



